


The Archivist and the Anchor

by Qwerty_2poynt0



Category: Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper (2004), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crossover, Do I really need to tag this? If you're reading this you know the plot already, Doppelganger, Fluff, Multi, Mutual Pining, that or you listened to I Am A Girl Like You once and were intrigued when you saw this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwerty_2poynt0/pseuds/Qwerty_2poynt0
Summary: (Optional subtitle: Stars Takes Advantage Of The Fact That No One Technically Has A Fully Canonical Appearance In Order To Make A Barbie AU)Jonathan Robinson-Sims takes his position as prince very seriously, and Melanie King takes her position as indentured servant to Elias Bouchard just as much so. Not that their situations make either one particularly happy.You wouldn't think the two have much in common beyond that, but that's because you've never seen them stood next to each-other and realized they look completely identical.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 58
Kudos: 56





	1. Free

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I have a deep love of both these pieces of entertainment and shoving them together was the only sensible thing to do.
> 
> Also the title actually has nothing to do with anything that happens in the story, I just couldn't think of anything better and wanted the alliteration.

The royal page rattled off Jon's schedule for the day as Sasha purred softly and wound around the prince's ankles, clearly vying for scritches that he couldn't give while the tailors fussed and tugged and adjusted his clothes. Jon let the finicky voice echoing off his bedroom walls wash over him and made the executive decision to shut himself away in his head. He stepped away from the gaggle of hands and pins and measures the second he sensed them backing off, having all the adjustments and information they needed. Sasha strolled behind him on the glossy floors as he took the three free minutes he had before they shunted him off to give a speech at the historical society, putting as much space between himself and everyone else as possible.

More than anything, Jon wanted one day, just one, where he had nothing to do and nowhere to be. No lessons, no lords, no lunches, no to-do lists; just him deciding for himself when to eat or read or leave or stay or...

_Sure. That'll happen any day now._

He stepped out into the fresh air of a balcony and stared out at the mountains. He wished he didn't feel like they were staring right back at him. Always a pair of eyes on the prince. Always someone to judge how he stood and what he wore and the things he said and the way he said them. Even the rocks that stood blotting out the sky stared him dead on, daring him to stare back. Luckily for him, rocks couldn't enact consequences if his face showed his fatigue and distaste. They just watched.

Sasha, tired of being patient, hopped up onto the balcony ledge to get his attention. Jon smiled softly at her and ran a hand along her soft dark amber fur, listening to her warm, soothing purrs.

"You know Sasha, sometimes I wonder what it would be like."

She tilted her head and mewed quizzically. Or at least, Jon intepreted it as a quizzical mew.

"To be... free."

-+-

Melanie let out a heavy sigh as she pulled the stack of vests and dresses and jackets and the like down from the shelf. The first out of... god, at this point counting the piles seemed pointless. Maybe she would have the energy for that after lunch. Right now she just needed to focus on doing her awful... awful job.

"You ever wonder what it would be like?" She thunked the stack down on the end of her work table, startling Tim from the spot where the cat liked to nap.

"Hm?" Jane looked up for a moment from her own sewing.

"Not waking up with a pile of work on every shelf?" She pulled the first bolt of fabric from her stack and Tim hopped into her lap as she reached for a pattern. "No hems that need pressing or hopeless sleeves. No _wedding dresses?"_

Both of them shivered at the thought. They never truly got over that one custom crocheted wedding dress. Or at least, enough of it was crocheted that the whole thing might as well have been.

"I used to I think." Jane said. "Been here too long to have the energy anymore I suppose."

"It's like it's not enough that we're drowning in debt, he also has to hold our lives as collateral."

Jane opened her mouth a moment before her face blanched and she silently ducked her head back down.

"Considering I house you here and you were fed off that same money your father is indebted for, I'd say the next 37 years of your life being held as collateral is a fair trade, don't you?"

Elias Bouchard's voice would never. In a million years. Not grate on Melanie's every nerve ending.

"Need I remind you I've already paid off more than half?" Melanie snapped, resisting the urge to grab a sewing needle and plunge it into Elias' jugular. Last time she so much as scraped him, he added the bandage he used to her tab.

"Ah yes, but there's an interest, isn't there? Shame you had to eat so much. Maybe you could have saved your father some grief."

He left just as soon as he appeared. Tim growled at the door as it shut almost mockingly behind the man. The women sewed in silence a few minutes.

"What would it be like?"

"What?" Jane cautiously raised an eyebrow.

"To be free."

-+-

Jon felt every ounce of exhaustion and frustration weighing on him as he walked into the room housing all the engagement presents. Sometimes he imagined the pile of silk tied boxes was actually a tangle of baited webbing; trying to entice him close enough to reach out and constrict around him. And everyone would watch and smile, commenting on how nice the prince looked in ribbons.

The presents weren't why he came here though. This room always had a perfect view of a certain tutor's favorite part of the garden. He sat down by the window and smiled to himself, watching Martin write his poetry as he looked out at the flowers. Jon sighed to himself and wished he knew what it would be like to settle in next to Martin after a long day like this and letting him run a few lines by him to see how they flowed. Knowing Martin, he'd let Jon lean against him, maybe even wrap an arm around Jon's waist.

"Well that's just not fair." He muttered to himself. "Can't go having such domestic notions about a man who probably won't be in your life much longer. What, you think you'll just magically be allowed to marry whomever you choose or something?"

"I really am sorry, Jon."

Jon would have nearly jumped out of his skin if his mother silently appearing from nothing weren't so normal at this point. What did surprise him was the apology. Jon could count on one hand the amount of times he heard his mother apologize for anything. 

"As you know, it is vital you marry Georgie Barker. It is the only way to take care of our people."

Jon thought if his mother were to posthumously obtain a title, it would be Queen Gertude the Calculating. He had a hard time shaking the intimidating pressure that thought inspired in him. What could he do in the face of their only sensible course of action except to say,

"I know. It's my duty."

The scuttling of feet approached from down the hall and both of them turned to see a servant carrying yet another box tied up in ribbon.

"Oh look." His mother said wryly, walking up and taking the box. "Another engagement gift."

Jon took a small comfort in the knowledge that his mother wasn't trying to brighten his spirits about this arrangement. Dulcenia had money they needed to support their citizens, they had an eligible prince like the queen wanted. Jon and Gertrude both knew he didn't like being treated like a pawn and devoting his life to someone whose face he barely knew. No use sugar coating it.

"Lucky me." Jon said as the messenger bowed silently and scurried off. His mother set the box down on top of the rest of them.

"You'll have to compose a letter of gratitude before you retire for the night."

Jon took a deep breath in through his nose. "Alright."

And she left. Jon watched out the window as Martin twirled the quill in his hand. His heart ached with the kind of fear that feeds on the need to be... free.

-+-

"One of these days, Jane, I'm determined to leave this place."

Tim swatted playfully at a beetle and Jane looked on nervously, nearly pricking her fingers every three seconds.

"Of course. In 37 years, I believe." Jane said absentmindedly. Melanie let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm serious. I'll leave and never come back to this town, to this country. I'll travel the world and regale people with stories the likes of which they've never dreamed."

"... And would you take me with you?"

Jane said it so softly, Melanie almost thought she imagined the exact words. But she heard it, plain as day. She reached over and placed her hand on top of Jane's, smiling warmly.

"I think that would be perfect. Just think about it: we'd both be free from the endless IOU's. You could sing and I could travel and we could both ha-"

"Careful!" Jane scrambled to shield the beetle from Tim's claws, and it finally flew off and out the window. She sighed, visibly relaxing even as she nursed the fine scratches along her knuckles. Tim pouted at her and let out a displeased 'whuf'.

"... Yeah..." Melanie trailed off.

Jane shrank back into her sewing and Melanie focused her attention on the finishing touches for this skirt. Flowers were usually easy to embroider, but sometimes she wished people could ask for Literally Anything Else as an accent. Tim and Jane couldn't always effectively cut through the drudergery, and the occasional vine or water design would be a welcome injection of variety. Maybe even a dragon. She could absolutely rock a dress with a dragon embroidered into it. It would be an eye catcher for sure, really add to her stage presence.

Not that she... got the chance to perform on stages all that often.

_Soon. Soon and then forever. I'll be free._

-+-

Jon stared into his empty room and felt... squished. Squeezed and pinned and tied up in what everyone else wanted and needed; pushed into something that left him so sullen and terrified him so much that it wrapped back around to being meaningless.

Well, actually, back up. The room wasn't entirely devoid of life.

Sasha lounged in her little bed and Jon smiled softly to himself. At least someone here didn't need him to give up any illusion of choice and safety to make them happy. He was pretty sure as long as Sasha had somewhere clean and soft to curl up, she couldn't care less about how he spent his time and who he married.

_Well I guess there is someone aside from my cat who'd be happy with what I want_.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking about Martin at a time like this, but... Martin was safe. Martin was sweet. Martin would pat his head and tell him everything would turn out for the better. That Georgie would be nice and give him space, that everyone would be so happy once the kingdom's finances were stable, that Jon was enough and it was okay to be scared.

And... maybe Martin would want to marry him. Jon wasn't exactly an expert on these things, but Martin... looked at him in this way that other people just didn't. Martin cared for him beyond just science lessons and small talk, Jon could tell. And Jon couldn't be so stupid as to harbor such strong feelings for someone wholly uninterested in him. It just seemed... righ that Martin would hold enough affection for Jon to be on board with marrying him. Right?

Jon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew he'd have to come back to reality soon, but just for this moment, with the last timid rays of sun streaming through the windows, he would allow himself a little escape. He would allow himself to imagine flying a thousand miles away. Being someplace, anyplace, anytime, where none of this mattered. Where an entire kingdom of people he never really met weren't relying on him marrying a total stranger. Where he could have more than fifteen minutes of free time broken up by hours of being puppeted through life. Where he could just... settle next to Martin with Sasha and be quiet and peaceful and content.

Jon drank in the image in his mind. Forming the sounds for himself of Martin's breathing and the scratch of his quill. Wrapping himself in the warmth of Sasha's purrs and silky fur and Martin's soft form as he leaned against the latter to read a book. Basking in the all encompassing freedom and contentment of knowing he could live like that forever. He believed that with all of his heart.

Then, he folded it up, hid it away, and opened his eyes to his twilit bedroom.

"I'll still be the prince in the morning." He said to himself, making his way to the bed. "I have a duty to my people. So, I, Jonathan Robinson-Sims will marry Georgie Barker in one week." He pulled back the covers and stood there for a moment.

"And I'll reserve my notions of freedom for my dreams."

-+-

Jane snored softly at her table, a small yellow ladybug settled happily on her pale, slightly gaunt cheek. Melanie carefully slipped the needle out of Jane's grasp and sealed the last stitch on the waistcoat pinned beneath the latter's arms. There. Now they were both finished. Tim trotted up with the end of a blanket bunched up in his mouth. Melanie smiled and crouched down to give him scritches.

"Thank you. You were very helpful as always today."

Melanie took the blanket and laid it across Jane's shoulders.

"Get some rest. We got another big day tomorrow..."

Just saying the words stole any semblance of energy Melanie had left. Tim pawed at her leg and she took him up into her arms.

"Yeah... yeah, we should sleep too."

She made her way to her cot, glancing out the latticed door to the tiny balcony. Jane liked to go out there as often as she could manage, and Melanie heard her singing to herself out there sometimes. She hadn't gotten the chance today, and Melanie figured it was a shame if nobody used the balcony at all. Call her crazy, but she just... felt like it meant a lot to the flowers that grew there.

She deposited Tim on the bed and stroked from his head all the way down to the tip of his tail.

"I'll only be a moment."

Opening the door as quietly as possible, she stepped out into the night air. A few wee bugs floated in erratic loopy paths near the sparse light. Melanie closed her eyes and felt the cool wind flutter her hair. If she deluded herself enough, it almost felt like flying. She wondered if maybe Jane came out here so much because this was freedom for her. The thought made Melanie angry, but she felt far too tired to do much more than weakly grip the flimsy banister.

Melanie was pretty sure Jane sang what she called The Ivy Song most often when she came out here. Maybe it could calm her down. She could even add words if she wanted. Jane liked when Melanie added words to her songs.

"I could take flight, but would it be right..."

Jane's songs had this habit of never resolving, and for the longest time, it drove Melanie mad. At least until one day, when Melanie started humming along and resolved the melody for her. Jane looked so happy Melanie started experimenting along with her more often. 

"My conscience tells me staaay..."

Melanie let her hands slip limply from the wood. It hurt, how much her heart already regretted every miserable second in this place and every minute of every day to come that she would have to spend here. It hurt seeing Jane fading more with each passing day. It hurt having Elias's oppressive gaze on the two of them at all times, making condescending comments and constantly reminding them that they were essentially in a debtors prison.

But it hurt more to think of living without the burning ambition to escape. Elias could pull on her strings all he liked, but he could never stop her schemes to cut them loose.

_There is life beyond this balcony. There is life beyond threads and seams and just dreaming about freedom._

She had to believe that. She had to remind herself. 37 years be damned. She would feed her mind, and one of these days, she would be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you have to understand that I hold a deep love for Jane Prentiss and I want nothing more than for her to be happy with many butterflies and beetles and earthworms. I do not know why I hold this deep love of Miss Prentiss, but I do and saw no reasonable course of action than to place her adjacent to Melanie who I also love very very much.  
> Also, Cat!Tim looks like he's always wearing a lil tuxedo. That is all, thank you for your time.


	2. How Can I Refuse? (But not really)

Michael, absorbed as he was in the 'tink! tink! tink!' of his pickaxe against the stone and intent on finding any and all shinies in the mine, didn't particularly notice Helen walking up to check their minecart behind him.

"Alright. What idiot put this in here?" She said. Michael paused and turned to see her holding up the rock he internally decided looked suspiciously spherical and maybe sparkly in some spots if you squinted.

"Oh! That would be me."

Helen did not look pleased. "Michael." She held it up close to his face. "Is this rock shiny?"

"It could be shiny."

Her frown deepened.

"Is it valuable?"

"Lots of things hold value."

Michael felt rather than visually saw Helen's jaw clenching.

"Will it make the boss happy?"

Michael opened his mouth, but Helen summarily backed him into a corner with that one.

"No..."

"Focus, Michael. You need focus." She threw the rock down a darkened shaft. "And maybe half a brain."

The conversation would have continued, and maybe Michael would have walked down the shaft to pick up his rock. Maybe when he did, he would have realized that the last thud of it bouncing across the floor sounded slightly different and a bit louder because the rock cracked open. Maybe, if Michael hadn't turned to the set of footsteps approaching the two of them, he and Helen would have noticed the in fact very shiny and valuable purple geode.

Instead, both of them scrambled for a hiding spot and ended up squished inside the nearly empty minecart. It used to get pretty full by this time of night, but by this point, the two of them stripped the royal mine of all its gold for the boss.

-+-

"Maybe if I go back and tell them he's asleep, we can pretend this isn't happening for one more day."

Martin paced outside Jon's personal library, willing himself to open the door. It was only a message that needed relaying. He just had to... open the door. And tell Jon what neither of them wanted to hear.

Well, okay, for all he knew Jon may actually be on board with the engagement by now. Maybe Jon spent last night listing out the pros and cons and decided 'Actually, I quite like the idea of marrying Georgie Barker. This will be fun.' Maybe Jon got a thrill out of the mystery of it all. Maybe he and Georgie secretly wrote one another constantly and this whole arrangement was their idea from the start.

Okay, Martin definitely needed to chill. Jon never changes his mind.

He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Come in." Jon called through the door in that way he does whenever he's absorbed in something else and doesn't want to let on how much the interruption bothers him.

Jon's measured, considering gaze fell on him as he walked through the door, and Martin took just a moment to savor it as he approached Jon where he hunched over his desk.

"Martin. Perfect timing." Jon smiled just slightly -any traces of annoyance falling away from his eyes- and Martin felt his heart squeeze. Jon set down the magnifying glass in his hand and tossed something simmery and golden at Martin. "The mountains in this area have everything it seems. Iron pyrite, commonly known as fool's gold. Probably one of the least valued hunks of pretty metal to grace the dirt."

Martin fumbled with the mineral for a moment before getting a full grip on it. He cleared his throat and tried not to look as ridiculous as he felt.

"Good job. Your highness."

Jon blinked at him and the smile disappeared from his face.

"Your highness?" The words fell heavy between them.

"I... it's just..." Martin fiddled with the chunk of rock in his hand and looked away from Jon's previously comforting gaze.

"There's not a need for formalities, Martin, it's just me." The sentence came softer than Jon's last, but it didn't hurt any less.

"The queen sent me." Martin said at length. "Apparently, the ambassador from Dulcenia has arrived with a gift for you."

"The ambassador?" The room might as well have been a vaccuum for all the air left in it. "They're here already?"

"Yyyes."

A few seconds of silence passed before Martin grouped together the nerve to look back at Jon and walk up to him... under the pretense of setting the iron pyrite back down on his desk.

"Would you like me to walk you there?"

"I..." Jon broke his eyes away. "Yes. I would like that."

The walk to the throne room passed in silence, and Jon gracefully accepted the necklace. But then again, Jon did just about everything gracefully. And what he didn't do gracefully exuded such endearing Jon-ness it left Martin in awe all the same.

Wow, Martin needed to get ahold of himself.

Jon summarily placed the unwanted necklace around the cat's neck the moment Martin closed the library door behind them. The door to the balcony hung open as Martin woodenly pet Sasha who admired her new necklace. At least someone liked the gift.

Martin couldn't stand this. He went out to Jon. Martin made no secret of his footsteps, but if Jon noticed, he didn't acknowledge him.

"They're so happy..." He heard Jon mutter under his breath. "Free to do whatever they want."

He followed Jon's eyes to a pair of children frolicking (prancing? Parading? Gallavanting? Lots of good words, he should really use one of them somewhere) through the palace grounds. Martin saw the girls around sometimes, and he always assumed they belonged to the gardner or some other staff. Honestly, they could be real terrors if the mood struck them. Though he supposed the mischeif the girls were free to get up to didn't factor into Jon's musings.

"What do you think Queen Georgie will be like?" Jon turned to face him. His expression stayed close to his normal inquisitive looks. But close only counts in horseshoes.

"I'm sure she'll be..." What could he say? What did Jon need most to hear? "Suitable."

Jon didn't even take time to absorb the answer before taking a step closer. "I know that it's the right thing to do. Marrying her. I know there is a very low likelihood of her being secretly evil or something. I know that this sort of thing happens all the time, I just..."

He held Martin's eyes for just a moment longer before stepping away. Martin wracked his brain for anything to put Jon at ease.

"I hear she's a lover of fiction." That wouldn't help at all, Jon never cared much for fiction. "I also hear she's fond of music. She plays piano, I believe."

Jon didn't respond. His eyes stayed wandering the courtyard, as if it held the perfect answer for straightening the whole situation out to everyone's satisfaction and he just needed to pick it out. Martin wanted so, so badly to hold him and tell him everything would turn out okay. That Georgie would be nice and lovable, and that she would love him and all his thoughtful looks and indignant pouts and sharp comments and everything that made him so wonderful.

Of course, that would be a stupid thing to do. And the only other idea that came to Martin was almost as stupid. Only almost though.

"... Jon?"

It took a few seconds, but Jon did eventually turn around. Martin rewarded him with a conspiratorial smile.

"You're going to need your cape."

"... Why?" The way Jon's face scrunched up ever so slightly made something in Martin squeal with delight.

"Well if we're going to be out and about in the city, we can't have you being too terribly obvious."

Martin lived for the slight, lopsided smile Jon gave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy! I'm gonna be fully honest with you: I cut off the mine scene before How Can I Refuse because without an Actual Musical Number, that entire scene is sinfully boring. But I still really really like Michael and Helen and needed them in this chapter or I Would Die.  
> I cannot wait for the next chapter! Iconic musical number time, hell yea!!!


	3. I Am A Girl Like You

Jon watched the muddled brown cacophony of buildings pass by in the carriage window. He never shared a carriage with Martin before. It felt... nice. Bad nice. Scary nice. Suspicious nice.

"You'll feel much better by the end of this excursion, I promise. There's nothing like some fresh air and a change of scenery." Martin chimed. He smiled the smile Jon learned meant he was trying really hard to get Jon to smile back. Jon frowned softly.

"If only it were that simple."

The carriage rolled to a stop and Martin reached over to open the door for the two of them. He offered his hand to help Jon out and Jon tamped down on the warm vibrating swell the gesture inspired. He summarily slipped his hand out of Martin's once his feet hit the cobblestone and distracted himself by taking a moment to absorb the city. It sort of... tunneled around him. Not squeezing, but not opening. It certainly didn't have the cleanliness of the castle grounds, but what else should he expect? He looked back into the carriage and noticed Sasha hesitating. He half smiled and reached out for her.

"Come along, Sasha."

She happily hopped into his arms. The three of them started down the street, Sasha and Jon looking about avidly to soak in every sound and image. Children squealed and chased after one another, women chattered and families bickered, windows flung open and doors shut with varying haste, litter and strays made an occasional appearance scuttling across the ground, and... no one's eyes scoured him. Not a single gaze raked down his spine, not a single vibration in the air alerted him to anyone's judgement. He tugged at the rim of his hood as an unfamiliar giddy feeling rose in his chest. No one looked at him. Not a single pair of eyes. At least not until a soft pair of eyes did float to him. The ones he liked to see him.

"It feels so good to be outside the palace." Jon smiled ever so tentatively at Martin. "Nobody knows who I am."

Sasha purred in agreement, and the delight written plainly across Martin's face nearly left Jon speechless. He looked away and grabbed blindly for a change of subject.

"So," Jon looked about, wondering which building was sufficiently house-ish and Martin-ish. "Which one is your house?"

"Oh it's ah... really more of a room. Couldn't afford an entire house."

"Oh, I-" How much did they even pay Martin??? "I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. I know." Martin breezed past and pointed to a building a good few blocks down. "Third floor on the left. I did all my studies there."

Jon followed, glancing left and right and breathing in the energy on the street. It honestly overwhelmed him a bit, and he nearly lost track of Martin a few times in the 46 seconds of walking before Martin called him over to a stall.

Flowers of every shape and color burst from each available container, and the perfume washed over him like the steady chatter of the crowd. Martin plucked one from the batch and gave it an appraising whiff.

"A perfect example of Iridae Sangiunea." He handed the iris to Jon, who made the executive decision to accept the flower and not think about any romantic implications this action could possibly hold. It was just... a token of their trip. Martin saw that this stall had something Jon liked and got the idea to give Jon a little reminder of 'The one time the two of them went out into the city together as a little escape.'

"My favorite," Jon gave him one of his rarer half-smirks. "But you knew that."

Jon could swear Martin flushed in response, but if he brought it up, Martin might deny it and the moment could be broken. Jon tucked the iris behind his ear, kept snugly in place by the arm of his glasses, and they moved on quickly. Not twenty steps down the road, an absolutely delicious smell hit Jon's nose from another selling stall.

"I am suddenly positively ravenous."

Martin paused and chuckled softly. He looked from Jon to the stall the positively delectable aroma drifted from and back.

"I'll be right back."

Martin made his way over, and Jon hugged Sasha to his chest, smiling privately to himself. He needed to make sure he committed every moment of this to memory. He needed every second he could get.

His quiet revelling came to a halt when his eyes fell to just the wrong spot and his ears registered an invading series of hammer strikes.

A small family shouldered what must be the entirety of their possessions as they finished boarding up a nearby building. Jon couldn't pull his eyes away as the man with a hunched back and calloused hands took up his load and sullenly led his family down a narrow road where he, his wife, and their daughter disappeared. Jo hugged Sasha tighter, willing the world to stop crashing down around him.

" _Like a bird that flies in the morning light, or a butterfly in the spring..._ "

Jon blinked and wondered if he was imagining someone who could sing so well it pulled everything else to a halt.

" _When your spirit rides on the winds of hope, you'll find your wings."_

Jon gave a small bitter smile at the irony of it. He summarily decided just an hour or two more to be selfish wouldn't slow the inevitable march of his future.

"Let's go listen, Sasha."

Jon made his way to the edges of a small crowd gathered around a woman wearing a hood with her back to him. She had a black and white cat with her, and as people applauded, they tossed a few tips his way. The song had apparently been a small break in an oration, because she succinctly launched into a story Jon could tell was already well underway.

Tim dutifully balanced his Melanie's metal mug on top of his head, being his usual charming self as people tossed their tips to him and listened intently to Melanie's story. She ran this one by him a few times already, so he knew it was worth every penny.

"The honeycombed woman fled that place of awful knowledge, all the while listening for the voices of her friends. They found her a safe place, warm beneath the earth and quietly humming with the life she so craved. It hid her from all judging eyes for a time, unti-"

"Here again?"

Tim nearly dropped the mug.

"Mr. Bouchard." Melanie dropped her story voice, tensing up and glaring. Tim hurried to her side, which ended up being a mistake when Elias swiped the mug from him and began shaking its contents into his own hand. "Wait! I earned that!"

"And you owe me. Drop the pretension; you're no singer, and you're no performer. Get back to work. Or there'll be trouble." And he walked off, tossing the empty mug down at Melanie's feet. Tim growled, wanting dearly to claw the man's tongue from his mouth.

Jon set Sasha down and reached into his pocket as the woman knelt down to pick up the beat up tin mug. He crouched down and dropped a few coins inside.

"I happen to think you're an excellent performer. At the very least, you sing beautifully."

"Thanks." She sounded tired as she pulled the mug to herself. "I have a friend who," she looked at him and they both froze. "Helps me... with it..."

Melanie studied the face of the man in front of her very, very carefully, and he made no secret of doing the same. Life seemed to move in slow motion as they both rose to their full, matching heights, and in a sort of entranced unison pulled their cape hoods back.

Consciously, both of them knew this couldn't be an illusion, but...

"We could be twins." Jon muttered.

They had the same cool oak-ish skintone, same almond shape to their void-like eyes, same thin-ish lips and half-there cupid's bow. People always told Jon how androgynous he appeared, but only now looking at this woman whose jaw and nose and form matched his point for point did it fully click. Melanie always thought Jane saying she looked handsome instead of a more decidedly feminine descriptor didn't completely make sense until this moment.

"What's your name?" They asked. That seemed to break the trance, because they both settled into their respective postures and Melanie nodded to Jon.

"You first."

"Just call me Jonathan."

"Jonathan, huh? How fancy; you have the same name as the prince."

Jon made just a slight snort.

"Well I should think so."

Melanie furrowed her eyebrows before the realization struck her.

"Oh." She gave him a small nod and moved on. "Melanie. Melanie King. What brings the high and mighty down from his tower?"

Jon needed to take a second to process what Melanie just did. Nobody... spoke to him like that. Nobody eschewed a proper bow when introducing themselves. Nobody acted so casually near him. Well, Martin would sometimes, but never when there was a risk of prying eyes. And there was always a risk of prying eyes. Melanie acted as if Jon was... a normal person.

"I'm..." Jon worried a moment how to delicately step around her question, but looking at Melanie... something in him settled, weirdly. Like if he gave her the full truth, she'd trust him with whatever her full truth was. "... I'm savoring a first and last taste of freedom before getting married next week to a complete stranger."

"Sounds rough." Melanie rattled the pitiful quantity of coins in her mug. "At least you're not an indentured servant."

Part of Jon felt a little indignant that Melanie clearly did not fully grasp the gravity of the situation, but...

"Indentured servant?"

"You saw Bouchard. I can't even have a hot breakfast without asking how much it will cost me. And if I do decide I can spare the money I have to fetch the eggs myself in the barns, which I don't know if you know, are about a full mile out of the city. And it's cold and it's wet and it is way too early for it, but at least I get an omelette on my plate. I can pretend I'm sleeping late while I scarf it down and hurry back for work."

"Really?"

Melanie almost laughed out loud seeing the positively flabberghasted look on Jonathan's face. She should probably be insulted, but something in the bent of his brow and the tone of his voice said something beyond vouyeristic curiosity. Like he wanted her to be okay. Nobody but Jane cared about her near that much, and she only just met Jon. It felt... nice. Having someone instantly treat her like a normal person.

"Really. But I'm used to it. How do you get _your_ breakfast?"

"Well....." Jon's face scrunched up into something far more sheepish than Melanie ever expected from him and she couldn't help the mirthful smirk spreading across her face.

"Weeelll?"

"If I want some eggs when I wake up, I ring the bell and the maid comes rushing into my room with the fancy silver tray and the cookie tin I've hardly eaten out of since I was ten. And while I eat she makes a valiant attempt of taking the tension out of my shoulders as strolling minstrels play. But if I'm being honest it's... so much, and I really just want to spend the day in my library with my science books."

Jon didn't want to look back at Melanie and see her judging him for complaining about being waited on and made to relax, so it took him by surprise when she responded after a beat of silence with,

"You're just like me."

"I am?" He turned back to her to see this knowing smile on her face, like she was about to let him in on a fun secret.

"There's somewhere else we both want to be. Somewhere... we can have for ourselves, and... live out or dreams."

Jon chuffed out a short laugh. "Bit dramatic on the phrasing. You really are a performer."

"Me? Nooooo, I could never be a performer. I'm just one of the inmates at Elias Bouchard's penitentiary. Ah! I mean, Finery and Finer Things."

Jon took half a second to feel stupid for not realizing until the third time he heard the name why it seemed so familiar.

"I always loved those clothes."

Melanie gave him a bit of a smarmy smirk. "I made everything you're wearing."

"You made _all_ of this?" Jon looked between his entire outfit and Melanie as if that would make it easier to completely process. "Is it... complicated?"

"Oh not really. You have blissfully plain taste, and even then, it's really just a matter of choosing a fabric and pinning it to the pattern, then just stitching in the front and back and suddenly: A lovely purple blazer fit for a prince."

"I mostly wear it when I'm frantically running through my library trying to find the right texts for a project or lesson."

"Ah, the easy breezy life of a scholar, free from the stress of arranged marriages."

"You have no idea." Jon sighed. He forgot the last time he smiled this much around someone who wasn't Martin... and even then he didn't really smile too terribly much around Martin most days. "It's a special kind of difficult, knowing you're about to marry someone you're entirely unfamiliar with... But I can't go to my mother with it though. She knows I don't like it, but if I tried to make her understand, it would more than likely just upset her."

"I completely understand."

"Well that makes sense; you're just like me."

The laughed together for a moment, and it felt to the two of them like nothing could be more true.

"We really have to address how freaky this is though." Melanie said, gesturing to both of their faces.

"Oh absolutely. There is no difference."

"Well my hair is longer."

"Fair, it's also much... poofier."

"That's the word you're going for?"

"Oh hush, at least all of my hair can fit in my hood."

"You wanna bet on that?" Melanie aggressively yanked the hood back over her head and the majority of her hair frizzed out of it. They dissolved into giggles once again, and something came to Jon.

"Well what about this birthmark?"

He turned and lifted the hair covering his neck to reveal the eye imprinted there.

"Oh absolutely not, I would never have something that creepy on my skin, or if I did, Jane would tell me."

"I will have you know it's a sign of my royal lineage. The Robinsons are known for having eyes in the back of our heads."

"Well it creeps me out, put your hood back on so I can pretend it doesn't exist."

Jon rolled his eyes, but obliged her all the same.

"Jon! There you are! I know I took ages, but did you really have t-" Martin stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of them and dropped the mugs of what was probably soup in shock. Melanie snorted and her cat hastily set about righting the cups as a good few seconds passed of Martin blinking and looking between the two. "This is... uncanny."

Tim made sure not to waste a single drop of food if he could help it, and sat proudly between the now upright warm mugs. The amber molly that came with this Jonathan person approached him with an apprehensive yet curious look in her eyes.

"Thank you." She mewed. "Our Martin has always been a bit clumsy."

Her voice sounded so sophisticated and.... catlike. It almost made Tim embarrassed to respond.

"No trouble at all." He did his best approximation of a purr, sitting up straight and perfectly confident.

"Is your cat always this helpful in a pinch?" Jonathan asked, picking up the mugs and handing one to Martin who bashfully hid behind it.

"Tim is absolutely the platonic ideal of a cat and anyone who says otherwise is wrong."

_"Woof!"_ Tim agreed enthusiastically.

"... Did your 'platonic ideal of a cat' just... bark?"

"He has a style all his own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I left out Premanger's dog, no I do not feel bad about it. Midas is an unpleasant little toad who doesn't even deserve to be mentioned in this footnote; his only purpose as a plot device is to facilitate a meetcute for Seraphina and Wolfie so I just wrote something different because it bugged me for YEARS that Annalise and Julian never got to eat their lunch.  
> So yeah, next chapter look forward to some more Helen-Michael interaction and some good old fashioned Jon Getting Kidnapped~♡


	4. Interlude

Michael crouched excitedly around the corner, peeking out occasionally to see how far along Helen was with their little wooden mouse. He secretly named it Rat, but refused to tell Helen because she always said his names for things were """unnecessary""" and """bad""". Well _maybe_ it didn't matter how necessary a name was. _Maybe_ naming things is fun and cute. _Maybe_ 'bad' is a mean word that doesn't mean anything because Michael's names were very good and neat and clever. Maybe Helen is just sour she isn't as good at names.

Helen bumped into him out of nowhere and shot him a look as she passed and gave the string tugging Rat along one final pull. Michael barely slammed the crate down on top of the prince's cat in time. It was honestly quite the save if he did say so himself.

"Okay! Let's book it!"

Helen frowned at him.

"Michael. You realize. That our objective. Is to capture the prince. Not. His. Cat."

Michael blinked.

"Why did we do this then?"

Helen rolled her eyes and handed Michael Rat's string. "Grab the bag."

-+-

Sasha tumbled across the dirt and jolted as the cabin door slammed behind her.

"That was _not_ polite!" She hissed at the obtrusive hunk of splintery wood.

"... Are you... alright?" Sasha swiveled her ears toward the hesitant nickering.

"Why on _Earth_ would I be alright?!" She rounded on the horse attached to the cart she had to presume brought Jon and her to.... wherever this was. "My Jonathan is inside there with those... hooligans! And now I am outside, at night! Do you understand what happens to cats outdoors at night?"

"They.... hunt?"

"Well- most cats, yes, but I am most certainly not most cats! And Jonathan is not most persons! And- and who are you anyway?"

"Oh, it's Gerard."

"Hm. Nice to meet you Gerard. I'm Sasha."

While Sasha began to calm herself down, Jon only became more worked up.

"I _command_ you to _unlock this door!"_

He heard a 'Right away your highness' from the man followed immediately by his partner sniping some sense into him. Jon rammed his fist against the door in protest. Nothing much came of it save for a minor splinter.

"He _needs_ me." Sasha mewed from atop Gerard, looking in on Jon as he collapsed onto the bed. "I have to _do something._ "

"I'm sure the boss won't keep him here forever... probably....."

"What boss?"

A set of hooves trotted nearer and the two turned.

"That one." Gerard said. Sasha almost couldn't believe her eyes. Only almost though.

They watched as Peter Lukas walked up to the door like he was about to accept a prize and knocked. Sasha never liked Peter Lukas much, and putting the pieces together, she was half tempted to march over right then and there to scratch a piece of her mind into his smug face.

"Keep him here until the wedding with Barker is cancelled. Then we'll see who wears the crown."

Sasha gasped softly as Lukas silently turned and made his leave.

"I knew he was no good."

"I'm quite sure everyone who's spent more than ten minutes at a time with him knows." Gerard said flatly.

"Sometimes humans are very dense." It was why Sasha liked Martin so much, he was quite sensitive and observant. Probably part of why Jon was so sweet on him if she thought about it.

Her eyes floated fretfully to the cabin, tracing along the boarded windows and crude cobblestones, up the weathered beams and shingles, up... up...

"Gerard, think you can get me up to the roof?"

Gerard gazed skeptically at the chimney. "I don't know... it seems.... high?"

Sasha flitted down behind Gerard's saddle which really ought to be replaced, these people should take much better care of him.

"I know you can do it. Just count to three."

"... Okay... One..." Sasha raised her paw, "Two...." Unsheathed her claws, "Thr-" and spiked them into Gerard's hindquarters. "EEK!"

For a moment, catapulting through the air, Sasha was glad her plan seemed to be working. The next moment, she was gripped with terror as she desperately scrambled for purchase and did her best not to slide off the roof. Once she got her footing, she shook herself off a bit and looked down to Gerard.

"Thank you, Gerry!"

He huffed indignantly out of his nose, and she smiled pleasantly down to him. Now all that needed doing was...

Sasha felt the trepidation coil low in her ribcage as she approached the dark, cramped chimney. Took a deep breath. And dived in.

Jon bristled at the sound of something tumbling down into the fireplace and watched as a plume of dust, ash, and charcoal hurled out from under the mantle, settling to reveal:

"Sasha?"

She looked a bit miserable, but bound towards him and butted her head against his leg like she hadn't seen him in weeks. He picked her up in his arms and held her tight, entirely disregarding how filthy she was making the clothes Melanie made for him. Sasha was here, things could be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I love writing Michael. Sorry y'all have been waiting so long for such a short chapter! Executive dysfunction been hitting me _real hard_ these past few months (as I would think it's hitting... A Lot Of Us)  
> I know I say this a lot on all of my works in a less direct way, but I really do appreciate you guys! And it makes me happy to bring nice things into your life~ So be sure to stay safe and take care of yourselves, b'cause you matter to me!  
> Okay, that's all, hope we all make it through season 5!


	5. To Be A Princess

Martin took a deep breath before entering the shop. It was thankfully quite empty save for the man on the other side of the counter that he had to assume was Elias Bouchard.

"Welcome, sir." He said in a legato voice that honestly made Martin's skin crawl upon hearing it. Something about him instantly rubbed Martin the wrong way. "Looking to update your wardrobe? I assure you, you'll find only the finest here."

"I... No." Martin took a step further inside. "I was actually looking to ask after one of your seamstresses."

The look that flashed across Bouchard's face really just cemented him in Martin's mind as someone deeply unlikable and untrustworthy. But he did cooperate, and Martin soon stood outside the shop with an excited Melanie whose day he just knew he was about to ruin. He could hardly get a word in edgewise.

"I mean- I know he said he'd send for me to perform, but I didn't think it would be so _soon_ -"

"Melanie..."

"I should change my dress- well I only have the one dress-"

"Melanie." Martin held onto her eyes and her face slowly faded into a realization.

"This... isn't about performing, is it?"

"I'm sorry, but no. I need your help. _Jon_ needs our help." Melanie didn't like how imperative that sounded. It sunk something tight and clinging deep into her stomach.

"What do you mean?"

Martin checked to ensure no prying eyes or ears.

"The prince has gone missing, and I need your help to get him back."

She had to take a step back, as though that could help the swarm or questions spinning through her head. The first one out of her mouth being: "Me? What am _I_ supposed to do?"

"You'll have to pretend to be him."

Melanie's jaw dropped. "Are you _out_ of your _mind?"_

"I know, I know- just listen!" Martin hissed. "I think Lukas-- one of the queen's advisers- he's taken Jon off somewhere so the wedding with Georgie Barker will be called off."

"That- but why?"

"I... can't say I know. But you have to trust me; if you can pretend to be the prince for just a few days, I can trick Lukas into showing his hand, I can find wherever he's hiding him."

"You're asking me to pretend to be _royalty_. I could be thrown in prison! Or _worse_."

"I could _also_ be thrown in prison or worse! But-- I- he-" Martin took a moment to try and steady himself. Melanie studied him closely. He seemed so... raw, almost. Like with the wrong pressure, he could just... rip apart.

"... He's in real trouble, isn't he?"

Martin didn't have the courage to look at her. He nodded and tried his best to push all the worry from his mind and focus on the plan. He didn't see Melanie slowly turning the thought over in her head. She really only met Jon just yesterday. They didn't necessarily have any real obligation to one another, aside from Jon's promise to have her perform at the castle. Although, really, pretending to be him could be construed as an elaborate performance. But how could she just abandon all of her responsibilities for an indefinite amount of days? Why should she risk _even more_ of Bouchard's disdain? What did she even care for royalty when she was already swimming in debt?

But... this wasn't about 'royalty' now, was it? It was about Jon. And she knew Jon. Jon who talked with her like she was important. Jon who made strange, dry jabs that revealed more than he probably thought they did. Jon who was...

"Just like me..." She said to herself. She looked Martin dead in the eye. "Count me in."

-+-

Melanie's cat scurried curiously about the room, inspecting every object in sight while she circled about, wide eyed and.... almost looking a little offended. Martin understood that in its entirety.

"Look at the... the _size_ of this place."

"Mmmhm."

The cat busied himself jumping and twirling about on the bed, and Melanie paused in front of the massive royal portrait featuring Jon and the queen. (and Sasha. Martin always thought it was very cute that Jon kept her with him so much)

Melanie crinkled her brow softly, looking at Jon's placid and stoic expression. This.... this strangeness settled in her chest. It stood at the intersection of dread and... something else. The resemblance didn't exactly help much, it only added an uncanny spice to the omelette of dizzy consternation. She pulled in a breath and turned to Martin.

"No one is going to believe Jon's hair grew six inches and became 4 times more curly in the space of 24 hours."

"That is correct, but don't worry, Jon once chopped all of his hair off in a bit of a breakdown when he was 17, so we can just pretend that's the case once again, as leaving a note saying he's run away seems like a breakdown-worthy situation."

Melanie pulled her hair over one shoulder a bit defensively. "Oh...."

"I know, I know," Martin held out his hands in a placating gesture, "But on the bright side, hair grows back. I'll get some scissors."

Melanie deflated a bit as Martin left. The sound of Tim purring on one of the pillows drew her eye and a smile spread across her face. She took a running start and dove into the silky sheets. Apparently, Jon liked his mattresses firm. Melanie could get behind that; after so long sleeping on an ancient saggy cot, it felt positively heavenly to have so much as two seconds on a nice sturdy bed. Especially with the silk cradling her as if she was actually supposed to be there.

"Can you believe this, Tim?"

Tim nuzzled against her cheek, which Melanie took as an affirmative.

"Didn't particularly occur to me that pretending to be Jon would then mean actually living in the palace. But I guess we'll be living in the palace for a few days."

" _Whuf!"_ Tim continued to hop around excitedly.

Melanie turned to the sound of footsteps to see Martin with the foretold pair of scissors. Melanie took a deep breath and got to her feet. Martin led her to a chair, sat her down, and got to clipping. As the shears cropped her hair shorter and shorter, Melanie took the lull to finish processing what exactly she was getting herself into.

"... Martin..."

"Hm?"

"I pretty sure there are some.... notable holes in this plan."

"Like how your voices are nothing alike?"

"Yes, precisely! I'll be found out the second I open my mouth."

"That's not actually as big a problem as you might presume."

"Wh- _how???"_

"Oh Jon has a history of just sort of... going quiet. Apparently it was really bad before he had Sasha around, but I remember a few years back after a party that.... ended badly. He wouldn't speak for a good two days after. Basically, we're really lucky Jon is Jon."

"So... I just won't speak?"

"Exactly."

Melanie laced her calloused, overworked hands together and let out an uneasy hum, and the soft snipping sounds behind her paused.

"Was there something else?"

"... I have no clue how to act like a prince."

"Ah." Martin brushed a few straggler locks from Melanie's shoulders. "I'll help you with that. There's a whole book on royal etiquette really. The beginning is much more kiddish and basic, since you're supposed to get further in as you get older. _'No nagging, bragging, sweating, fretting, slipping, tripping, slurping, burping, twittering, or frittering allowed. Stay pleasant, stay present, stay proud.'_ That's the first thing you'll need to commit to memory."

"... That's the _kiddish_ part of the book?"

"Well, it's framed like a children's rhyme. Jon mumbles it to himself sometimes, and when I asked, he pointed me to the very first paragraph. It helps him to kind of get into character I think."

"I'm starting to realize why he wouldn't speak for pockets of time."

"It's a lot, you'll need a crash course in the first eighteen years of material at least. You must maintain a regal gait, there's a dinner rule about parsley for some reason?? And at all times, you will have to be charming. But a bit detached. Yet amused."

Melanie opened her mouth-

"And you're not allowed to be confused about anything."

She quickly closed it again.

-+-

A good two hours of cramming and note taking about how to breathe, step, smile, nod, and generally conceal her every emotion later, a new kind of exhaustion began to settle over Melanie. She would run her fingers through her hair or otherwise fidget with it, but that was a bit impossible with its current length. Not to mention, fidgeting and squirming of any variety was expressly forbidden. At least she had the shirt Jane made. She recognized it in Jon's closet instantly while they were trying to find something that would cover her neck. Jane always did center her clothes around comfort, and it felt nice to have something vaguely familiar while she attempted to process both how to never be at a loss for words and how to properly defer to every individual count and lord.

"This is entirely out of nowhere," Martin went on as though everything he dumped on her over the course of the afternoon wasn't nearly as taxing as it absolutely was. "But can you harmonize?"

"... I thought I wasn't supposed to speak, let alone sing."

"Right! Right, sorry, it's just-" Martin chuckled a moment. It was a weird semi-delerious kind of chuckle mixed with a hefty helping of nerves. "Jon, he always harmonizes in thirds, he was taught it and just never got out of the habit."

"Jon can sing?" _What is harmonizing in thirds??? What is he_ talking _about?_

"Oh, absolutely! His voice is just wonderful." Martin's face took on this dreamy look that had Melnie raising an eyebrow. "He just- it's like- your spirits just start to rise when you hear it, and he always closes his eyes whenever he's singing, so it's this sort of... magical moment almost!"

"I see." Melanie couldn't keep the smirk off her face if she tried. She suspected when she first met him that Martin might be mooning a bit after Jonathan, and she would dearly hoped to hear more, partially to extend the momentary reprieve from the lessons. Luckily, Martin kept looking off into space with that goofy lovestruck look in his eye.

"It's sort of like, he always carries this sort of... air about him, and his voice just- has this sort of effect, it's almost like- like if Jon entering a room makes it a garden, his voice makes everything bloom!" Martin finally turned to Melanie, saw the look on her face, and turned beet red. Melanie exchanged a knowing look with Tim as Martin cleared his throat. "So, review?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just now occurred to me that Sasha could technically qualify as a service animal, because poor Jon just always has So Much Anxiety and everything is always A Lot for him. (I also think this one Tumblr post kinda colored my headcanon of him, so now I'm pretty sure I've written bits and pieces of this as miiiild autistic Jon, but I'm not entirely sure, it's real hard for me to not feel like I'm doing something wrong if I'm being intentional on that front, let alone when I'm just subconsciously making subtext. Like, at least with ADHD Kaminari, I knew what I was talking about since I was essentially projecting with extra steps, but this is all Very Off Topic) I guess I just felt the need to point it out, so anyway!
> 
> I was _really glad_ I could actually show Melanie's inner thought process during the whole 'Bro, I could get thrown into prison for this' scene because like, in the movie, that was a genuinely weird moment. She just mumbles 'A girl like me...' to herself to denote to the audience that she's doing this because she wants to help Annalise, but that's such a clunky line to just have her say into the silence??? Even changing it to 'just like me' honestly did wonders. Also, the animation limitations didn't exactly help. I think the animation in this movie is actually pretty good, it's just that they couldn't really give the characters very uhm.... complex facial expressions. SO! I was very happy to add some meat to that barebones scene. I also super liked translating the montage nature of To Be A Princess into this chapter and finding ways to twist the lyrics into proper sentences. It was great, Highly Recommend.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡A few fun reminders♡  
> \- You can toss me a tip on **[my Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/starryjam)** if you feel so inclined  
> \- I have **commissions** available, if you wanna message me about that on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/StarsInAJamJar) or [Tumblr](https://stars-in-a-jam-jar.tumblr.com/).  
> \- And last but most certainly not least: I would be _ecstatic_ if you plunked so much as a ':)' down in the **comments,** it really **makes my day** knowing what I write makes people happy and that I make good stuff, so yea!  
> That's all from me. Thanks so so much for reading, and have a super shimmery day~♡


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